


Until Things Get Messy

by hothchata



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e07 The Believer, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hothchata/pseuds/hothchata
Summary: Din reflects on what it meant for him to take off his helmet.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Until Things Get Messy

“Soon, he will be back with me. He means more to me than you will ever know.”

The words were laced with anger and determination, the twinge of satisfaction. It was the same phrase that Gideon said to them before on Nevarro. He stared right into Gideon’s eyes as he shut the transmission off. He breathed a quiet sigh, walking away from the holoprojector. 

He made his way toward the cockpit but bumped into Cara. She nodded in recognition. “Send him a message?” she asked.

“One he’ll remember.”

“What’s our next move?” Fennec asked, walking in behind Cara.

“We’re going to need extra help. Fett and I will talk to the Mandalorians I encountered on Trask, see if they’re willing to help rescue the Child. But there’s someone else we need to get to first.”

“Who?” Cara asked.

“Dr. Pershing. He was studying the kid back on Nevarro when the Imp was still alive.” Din said. “We have Gideon’s coordinates, but we need to make sure that the Child is there, alive.”

“The name sounds familiar,” Cara began. “I’ve heard he worked as a clone engineer.”

“I’ll go tell Boba,” Fennec said, turning back toward the cockpit.

“No, I’ll go,” Din said, walking past them both. He made his way into the cockpit where Boba was seated.

“Have the coordinates?” Boba asked.

“Yes,” Din began. “But we need to find an Imperial doctor first. He worked with Gideon to study the Child. Pershing, a clone engineer.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” Boba replied.

Din nodded. He stayed in the cockpit with Boba as he inputted the coordinates, setting the controls to autopilot. Din reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver ball that Grogu was fond of, the only surviving remnant of the Razor Crest. He twirled it in his fingers, his heartbeat increasing slightly. He could still feel the fabric of the Imperial guard uniform on his back. He could still feel the bareness he endured without his beskar, and the hammering of his heart as he entered the Imperial refinery.

_ Have you ever removed your helmet? _

The words of the Armorer echo in his head. He remembered how his hands shook as he reached for his helmet inside the refinery. It was different when IG-11 unmasked him to treat his injury, he wasn’t human. The droid didn’t possess the same menacing stare that the general, Hess, did. His gaze bore into his  _ brown eyes _ as if he were memorizing every detail of his face, and it made him want to vomit.

“I’ve heard you’re the silent type,” Boba said, pulling Din out of his thoughts. “But this is too silent,” he said, turning to the Mandalorian. “You can’t go through with a plan if you aren’t focused.”

“I am focused,” Din said, still staring off into space, unaware that he was holding the metal ball tighter.

Boba took notice of the small object, pausing before speaking again. “Mando, you’re not the only one who knows what it’s like to lose someone.”

Din paused, looking up at Boba. He didn’t know much about Boba, aside from what he told him when he retrieved his armor. But he remembered who the armor belonged to before it was Boba’s. “You lost your father.”

“To a Jedi, yes,” Boba said. “And you’ve lost your child to the Empire.”

Din stayed silent, unsure of what to say. He stared back at the ball in his hands, his fingers twirling it in the same movements as if he were unscrewing it from the joystick control. Boba stared at Din, his pain a familiar one to read. Slowly, he removed his helmet and set it aside. Din grew tense, trying his hardest not to flinch at the small action.

“But that’s not all you’ve lost, is it?” Boba asked.

Din’s heart beat faster, holding the ball in an enclosed fist. He felt the phantom feeling of Hess’s gaze on him as if Boba could see straight through the beskar. Was he that easy to read? Did he even need the mask anymore? 

“I,” Din began. Boba waited patiently, his mask no longer hiding his scarred face. His expression showed concern and understanding, a strange sense of comfort.

“I broke the Creed,” he said.

It took Boba a minute to understand his confession, unsure if he had a grasp on whatever creed Din referred to when he first asked him on Tython. “You removed your helmet.”

“We ran into an old superior of Mayfeld’s. He couldn’t do the scan, and my helmet wouldn’t register.”

“Was that all?”

Din shook his head. “His superior caught us first, didn’t dismiss us so we could have a drink with him.”

“I swore no creed,” Boba began. “But it’s obvious how much it means to you. It is who you are.”

“I keep telling myself that I did what I had to do,” Din said. “But I’m not sure anymore.”

“Why not? You might’ve broken a rule, albeit a sacred rule, but doesn’t it warrant an exception? You risked your identity to help save the Child. You’ve risked your life for him several times before. Doesn’t a foundling’s safety come first?”

Din paused, listening to Boba’s words. Mayfeld had told him the same thing, that he did what he had to do. He cared deeply for the kid, just as much as Grogu cared for him as Ahsoka Tano had said. And after all, the foundlings are the future, are they not?

“I suppose it does.”

“Then you should feel no remorse. That Imperial supervisor is dead now, after all.”

Din only nodded, looking back down at the silver ball. It wasn’t as shiny as it once was, but not only due to the dirt that came with a bounty hunting profession. The color was also partly created by Grogu’s saliva from times where he’d toss it in his mouth, much to Din’s distress. He smiled underneath his helmet. 

“Does he have a name?” Boba asked.

“Grogu,” Din answered. “His name is Grogu.”

Boba was surprised at the name, looking almost as if he were practicing its pronunciation in his head. “Well, you’ll have your Grogu back soon,” he said, getting up. “And he’ll have his _buir_ back.”

Boba walked out of the cockpit, leaving Din alone. He rolled the ball in between his hands, admiring it before putting it back into the safety of his pocket. Grogu was his foundling, and if it meant having him back, he’d discard every piece of his beskar armor, a thousand times over.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment or feedback!


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